The Girl That Never Smiled

♚ Even through a looking glass... ♚

Invisible [adjective]: Withdrawn from or out of sight; hidden.

That's the gift I have - invisibility.

Although...
I'm really just contracted with the shadows.

Wherever I am, I can feel them slipping themselves around me, coiling and writhing to get me in their grasp. They devour me, engulf me, suffocate me - create a cage around me to hide in - but I would hardly call them 'friends'.

And the gift? I think of it more as a curse.

When people blur past you, rarely sparing a sideways glance, it's the only explanation you have.

So...
I stood there, in my shadows.

Only a few minutes ago, the corridor was packed with hormonal teenagers shoving to get inside the cafeteria; it was a riot.

Almost as if sandwiches were the messiah and could magically solve every problem.

Now, cue the stereotypical tumble weed.

Eyes shuttered and aloof, I couldn't care less why they decided to throw away their time for the sake of stale bread.

But, closed doors didn't stop the buzz following me while I walked over to the nearest classroom and stopped at the teacher's desk.

I slid the drawers open and took a pair of paper clips out from the bottom one.

I followed my familiar path - like a yellow brick road - and after a few turns tried the handle of an olive-green door. Darkness seeped from within. The slight thump let me know that it was locked, so I slipped the curved wire out of my hoodie and twirled it around in my hands.

Smooth metal slid on my palm but the straight edges were soon replaced by an irregular, zigzag shape when I tugged and pushed the paper clip open.

Could stationary feel? If so, one had jagged, broken bones; the other was crushed and it's neck snapped forward in a right angle.

...Shame...

Are these vengeful spirits?

I bent down and scraped the wire corpses across the inside of the keyhole. Feeling for the tumblers they clicked into place and I pushed the mechanism around. Soon, the door swung open and hit plaster - making it dent and paint flake to the floor.

My arm collided with a switch, the single lightbulb above me flickered and popped to life. Looking back at the damage, I stopped and took a glance on the white freckles covering a little space by the edge of the wall.

Huh...

My glamorous setting resembled a janitor's closet - a thin, long cupboard with some shelves along the left side and cleaning materials stacked high on the right - the epitome of cosines.

Dying for a second, the bulb then illuminated, centimetres above my head. I turned around slowly.

Maybe...
Maybe it was the reflection of the swinging light but something flashed across my eyes - blink and you'd miss it.